I Keep Your Picture
by peacefulsands
Summary: Eliot’s hiding at Bobby’s escaping from the disaster that is his life. Dean’s hurt and should be resting but as Castiel soon finds out pain and the need for rest and recuperation isn’t enough to stop Dean heading for Eliot.
1. Chapter 1

_**I Keep Your Picture**_

* * *

_Disclaimer :_ All characters belong to the owners and creators of the two TV shows, Leverage and Supernatural and no gain is being made out of this endeavor and no offense is intended.

_Author's Notes :_ This story was written for a challenge at the LiveJournal community "pictures2words" in which artists created a piece of art and then writers wrote a story inspired by the art. To see the art in question, check out the Livejournal user davincis_girl for the title "I Keep Your Picture".

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Dean stood at the window, leaning awkwardly against its frame, looking out into the woodland beyond the cabin. Nothing to see but trees, no sign of humanity beyond the four walls of the ramshackle cabin. He looked upward, taking note of the diminishing daylight. It was difficult to pinpoint the time, given the godforsaken weather and the coverage of branches. The rain hadn't let up in days, the Impala was stuck in the mud outside and if Dean had felt even a fraction better than he did, he'd have been at least thinking about the need to dig her out. She was too beautiful to be left adrift like that. He'd have to have words with Castiel next time he was here, if he came back . . . iwhen/i he came back, Dean reminded himself.

He shivered, feeling the drop in temperature already. Awkwardly, he pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning and turned, limping slowly to the other side of the room. He carefully lowered himself down on to the chair in front of the small wood-burning stove and set the wood there alight, sitting back and waiting to be sure the flames caught so the room would begin to warm. He sighed and shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position, becoming aware of the uncomfortable pressure of his wallet in his pocket. Fat lot of use that was right now, when he couldn't leave this damn prison . . . cabin . . . respite home for the sick and weary . . . whatever. He shifted his weight again, pulling the wallet free. He was about to toss it across the room, back toward the bed, when he saw the corner of a faded photo peeking out from its folds. He pulled it closer to him, closing his eyes as he held the wallet to his chest. He bit his lip and held his breath, waiting . . . waiting for the feeling to pass. Bringing one hand to his face, he wiped it across his eyes. God knows what was going on but he was overly-emotional right now. He sneered at himself, freaking bitch, pathetic and useless. He pulled himself up straighter in spite of himself, tugged the photo free and looked straight at it.

"God, Eliot! So much has changed?" he murmured to the picture. "Where the hell are you, man? 'Cause you know, right now . . . right now the sight of your sullen ass would be good." He shivered, rose and dropped the photo onto the seat before moving cautiously across to his duffle. He sat down on the bed beside it and ripped the zipper back so that he could drag out another thick shirt and a hoodie. He pulled both on with difficulty, wincing at the pain lancing through his side and choking back a gasp, head dropping forward.

Shakily he reached out for the bottle of water and meds beside the bed, then made his way back to the seat in front of the stove, hoping the warmth would seep into his body and relax the tension there. Thank heavens Castiel had thought to lift his duffle from the floor so that Dean hadn't had to bend down to hunt through it. The more thought he gave it the more it occurred to him that it wasn't the only thing Castiel had thought of. The meds and water by the bed hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep, Castiel had obviously been hoping he'd stay in bed, part of Dean wished he had, but the cold was invading his every pore and getting up and dressed had seemed like a solution.

As he turned ready to sit back in the chair, he caught sight of a pan to the side of the stove and limped towards it, leaning down far enough to nudge the lid to one side to see what was inside. He leant further forward to grasp its handle and lift it to the hot plate. As he let go, he dropped back to the chair. His head dropped forward as he tried to calm his breathing and let go of the pain.

"I was coming back," said a calm voice behind him. "I was coming back so you didn't need to get up."

"I was cold and there's only so long I can take lying on my ass," Dean gritted out without lifting his head.

Castiel sighed as he moved forward, closing the door firmly behind him. "You're in pain."

"What's new?" Dean muttered in response. "We know that, it's why you left painkillers and water beside the bed."

"I am sorry, Dean. I – I would heal you, if only. . ."

Dean's head snapped up, glaring, "No! You got that! We're not going to keep having this argument, Cas. No! You've done what you could, it was enough, I can – I can recover from this. It's just going to take a bit of time." He stood awkwardly, turning so he was face to face with the angel. "You've got to stop believing that this is your fault, it isn't and the healing is not your responsibility."

"I should have pro-"

"You dare say protected me and so help me, God . . ." Dean snapped. "Just . . . just drop it, Cas. Let's eat and then . . . maybe I'll sleep some more. Maybe you can keep me warm or something."

"Dean, I'm not sure that would be appropriate." Dean smirked at Castiel's assumption. Sometimes he was just too easy to wind up. Dean lowered himself back onto the chair, unwittingly knocking the photograph he'd been looking at earlier to the floor. Castiel bent to pick it up, intending to pass it back to Dean, but as he stood he realized he didn't recognize the person in the picture. He looked at Dean for a moment, saw the guilty expression. "It is not Sam."

"No, it's not Sam," Dean answered, looking away towards the window.

"I am not aware of this . . . person. He is not your brother, yet you keep his picture as if . . ."

"His name's Eliot and he was a friend," Dean said quietly. Castiel hmmed as if considering this information and pondering further questions. Dean continued speaking, rather than waiting for the interrogation, "We were friends a long time ago. I've not seen him since . . . since you brought me back."

"He thinks you are dead . . . this is why you have not been in contact? He would not understand."

Dean shook his head and started to rise with difficulty until Castiel moved to stop him. "You do not wish to talk about this Eliot. We shall talk about something different. I noticed on the weather report that the rain will still be continuing for some time."

"Yeah, about that. We need to do something about getting the Impala out of that mudflat you've parked her in."

Castiel's head tilted to one side as he considered Dean's words, "We do not need to be doing any such thing, you must rest or you will not heal and I did not park the car in a mudflat. It is parked outside this cabin. I shall help you to the window shortly to put your mind at rest about the car."

"I've seen where you parked her and she's being swamped by mud!" Dean growled in annoyance, only to find himself being glared at in return as Castiel demanded an explanation as to how he had seen the car. "I'm not – not- not made to be cooped up inside some cabin in the middle of freakin' nowhere," he defended, wilting under Castiel's even gaze.

He couldn't move away as Castiel's hand came to rest on his forehead. He made his disapproval clear until Castiel stepped back, "You are cold, yet your temperature is elevated again. This is not a good sign. You need to keep warm; this is why you should be in bed."

"Listen Cas, unless you can magic up some amazing way for me to restock the stove with wood when you're not here, then this cabin is fuckin' freezing!"

"My apologies. I did not account for the wood burning through before I returned."

The conversation was interrupted by the trill of a cell phone. Both men turned to look around the room. "Yours or mine?" Dean asked, as he watched Castiel search in the pocket of the jeans he was wearing. It was something else that had changed. The last foray and Castiel's attempts to heal them both had left the angel weakened. There were more things he had to do the i'human way'/i, now.

He now had to wash and change his clothes because it was too much of a drain on his limited energy to keep his clothes in pristine condition. Rather than the suit and trench coat he usually wore, he now had an admittedly small wardrobe that bore a remarkable resemblance to Dean's. Dean's advice had made sense when he first tried to purchase clothes. The choices were far more robust than what he'd worn previously and they didn't show dirt as easily as the pale apparel he had been wearing. Yet to Dean's eye, Castiel didn't yet seem comfortable, or at ease, in his new wardrobe, even though he had accepted the need to wear them.

He looked up as Castiel held his own cell phone out to him. Reaching out cautiously, not lifting his arm too high, Dean was grateful when Castiel lowered it so he didn't need to stretch. He could see the concern in Castiel's eyes and looked away, knowing his unwillingness to rest wasn't helping - although it wasn't the real reason for the pain.

"Yeah?" he said, surprised to hear Bobby's voice on the other end of the line. As Bobby began to talk, Dean forgot all about his own injuries, the car stuck in the mud outside and the disagreement - of sorts - with Castiel.

"Eliot! He's come to you?" Dean choked out. "Why?" He felt Castiel's hand drop to his shoulder in support as the lump formed in his throat. Even before he hung up, he knew he was going to have to tell Castiel who Eliot was.

* * *

They'd been arguing for at least thirty minutes. Dean knew if he couldn't find some way to quickly convince Castiel that they should go, he was going to prove Castiel right - that he was in no fit state to travel – by collapsing.

Climbing to his feet, he faced Castiel, man to man . . . angel . . . whatever. "We have to leave . . . Bobby said Eliot's there. I've said we'll go there. He's looking for me . . . You don't under-" but any point he was going to make was lost when he paled and his knees began to buckle.

Castiel frowned and reached forward in time to catch Dean before he fell. He lowered him into the chair. He looked at Dean, concern clear in his eyes, and spoke simply, "I think you have just proved my point very well. You are right, I do not understand, so I will suggest this . . . I will telephone Bobby to say that we will come, but we cannot leave tonight and it will take us several days to get there. You will eat the stew and then you will let me check your wounds again before you return to bed and to sleep. In the morning, providing your temperature is lower, I shall dig the car out of the 'mudflat' and I shall begin to drive you to Bobby's. We will be stopping when you are tired - when your temperature begins to rise - or if you are in discomfort. We will take the journey in stages so that you can continue to heal. I do not know this Eliot, but he is clearly important to you, he is not, however, important enough to me to risk your health further."

Dean nodded. Given the way he had just almost collapsed it was a pretty good compromise, better than he'd expected.

Castiel returned to the stove, adding more wood before stirring the stew which was beginning to bubble. He moved around the room, retrieved a blanket from his own bed and settled it over Dean. He reached out to check his temperature again, until Dean growled and knocked his hand away.

It wasn't long before he served up the stew, sitting in silence and beginning to eat after handing Dean his own bowl. It was Dean who broke the silence, "So, ask me about Eliot."

Castiel cocked his head to one side, "I have not asked anything because you did not wish to speak of him."

"Seriously?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "I wish I'd had you around instead of Sammy growing up. He was always pestering me with questions. Still does –" The final statement led to an awkward silence as both of them considered the current disagreement between the brothers and Sam's absence. It was a while before Dean spoke again, "I met Eliot when Sam was at Stanford. We were close for a while. He – " Dean considered his words. "He was at Bobby's, knew a little about hunting but wasn't a hunter himself. He was a friend, a close one." Dean's eyes flicked across to Castiel warily as if bracing for a reaction.

Castiel regarded him quietly. "And . . ?"

"And we were close. We stayed in touch. Saw each other as much as we could, but since Sam came back," Dean shrugged, "it's been more difficult. Sam doesn't know about Eliot. I mean, he's met him, he just . . . he doesn't know that he's more than an acquaintance I met through Bobby."

Castiel frowned at Dean's words and tried to make sense of them. "Why did you not tell Sam about Eliot?"

"I just didn't. There are some things he just wouldn't understand and . . . and Eliot's one of them." Dean sighed, "Look Sam's . . . Sam. You know how he is. He sees me one way and . . . and that used to be even worse. There's never been a good time to tell him that . . . There's never been a good time to tell him that I'm not the man he thought I was."

Castiel didn't say a word. There was no point. He had come to understand Dean's opinion of himself was low. Whatever he said would do little to change that. Sam's words usually meant more but right now, Dean didn't think much of Sam's opinion either. It gave Castiel more to think about, though. He could not work out how having a friend would make Dean less of a man in Sam's eyes, perhaps he needed to meet this Eliot for it to become clear.

* * *

Dean slept well after another dose of painkillers in his system, when Castiel finished checking his wounds. Castiel was pleased to see they were still healing. He sat on the bed alongside Dean, reconsidering their position. He and Dean had been abandoned and ambushed. There was no other way to describe it. The other angels had not appeared and Sam had called to say he couldn't make it only minutes before they were attacked. Castiel knew Dean suspected that somehow Sam had been distracted from the fight, or that his priorities had changed because of the imminent arrival of the demons. Dean believed Ruby had been involved. He couldn't deny it to set Dean's mind at rest. Too many of Sam's actions and intentions were hidden from him.

He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. He prayed for the way to be clear before him and offered up his experiences and adoration in thanks for all he had been given. He was thankful, even in these hard times, that God spared him some consideration, enough that he had been able to heal most of his own wounds and partially heal Dean. It had been a hard decision to make. Everything in him screamed to heal Dean's wounds fully before considering his own, but the battle had taken much from him and he needed to be able to protect them both before the next onslaught came. He knew Dean would not be able to do that for him. Castiel would have been a burden to Dean injured a greater burden than Dean ever could be to him. He had enough strength left to hide them in this wood, conceal them from prying eyes - although clearly not from cell phone reception.

The battle had been hard, barely won, if you could even call it victory. In the end, Castiel had had to be satisfied with them having slaughtered enough of the demons to survive.

* * *

Castiel cleared the area around the car and ensured he would be able to pull the car away from the cabin with ease. Unlike the last time he had driven the car with Dean as a passenger, Dean was conscious and watching. Castiel knew that this was Dean's most prized possession, knew the car meant something, and he did not want to anger the young man by appearing to mistreat it.

He helped Dean from the cabin and eased him down into the passenger seat of the car before fetching the final items he intended bringing with them. He could use Dean's eagerness to get on the road to ensure he complied with more of Castiel's wishes. This, in turn, would hopefully ease Dean's suffering and aid his healing further. Castiel had enough concerning him about this drive without adding greater worry about Dean's health. The time he had spent with the young man had taught him the need to think through his actions carefully in order to get Dean's agreement most easily. It wasn't deceit he had decided, it was . . . practicality.

He shut the cabin door still wondering if he would be able to get them to Bobby's in one piece without a demon attack en route. It was one thing to shield a cabin already concealed by woodland, but he did not have the energy to conceal a car moving through an ever changing environment, or a room in a motel. Once they were ensconced in a motel, he would be able to ward the room to discourage passers-by from trying to enter or disturb them, but hiding the room completely was unlikely unless he managed to get one at the end of a row.

Reaching the driver's seat, he handed Dean a blanket and insisted he wrap himself in it. He then placed a pillow between Dean and the door, to give further protection against accidental jolting. When he held out a bottle of water and painkillers, he saw Dean's eyes flicker as if he was about to object before silently taking the bottle and reaching for the pills. "You do realize I'll likely be asleep soon if I take these now. I won't be able to read the map for you, give you directions or anything."

Castiel gave a hint of a smile and nodded, reaching instead for the box of tapes below Dean's seat and pulling it forward. He took a tape out, held it in front of Dean for his approval then slid it into the tape deck. Castiel held out a pair of sunglasses as he took the bottle from Dean.

Dean gave a snort of amusement, "You're too smart for your own good, Cas. It'll come back to bite you in the ass one of these days."

"Rest, Dean. I can handle this," was the only reply he gave.

* * *

It was amazing, he'd slept through almost the whole day's driving and here they were at a motel and he was yawning and ready for more sleep. He cast a suspicious glance at Castiel, "I thought we agreed - no mojo!" Castiel's expression was one of utter confusion and Dean wondered whether he'd completely misjudged the angel's interference in his sleeping patterns. Dean reached two fingers out to Castiel's forehead and said, "Sleep," watching Castiel for a reaction.

"No mojo. Your body needs rest in order to heal. When you do not make excessive demands on it, it will take that rest and concentrate your energies where they are needed most," Castiel answered simply.

Dean shrugged acceptance of Castiel's explanation, pushing the remains of the pizza away. He looked at Castiel who was just wiping his fingers on a napkin. A look of puzzlement crossed his face as he said, "So do you actually need to eat now as well or . . .?"

"I have observed your eating patterns . . . You eat better when someone eats with you. On your own you have a tendency to ignore the need for food until it overwhelms you and then you overeat. I was watching a television program while you were sleeping that emphasized the need to eat when you are first hungry and not to allow your body to swing between extremes. It is bad for your health. When you have Sam with you, you are always considering whether he's going to be hungry and so you are aware of where the next diner or gas stop might be, but you ignore all the same information for yourself. I figured that perhaps I could fulfil that role for you."

"Kinda spoilt it now though by telling me you don't actually need to eat, but hey, thanks for the effort. So you're not going to be offended if I turn in now, are ya?" Castiel shook his head, standing up and moving to Dean's side to help him ease himself up from the chair. "You do know I can get up on my own?"

"I do, but when I help you, you are less likely to rush, less likely to aggravate the healing, so it is a small price for us each to pay," Castiel replied. "The demon's poison is leaving your system; the wounds should begin to heal more effectively when that stage is passed. You will feel much better then I think. Sleep well tonight and I shall wake you early tomorrow so we can progress further in our journey."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Castiel woke Dean before they approached Bobby's. The wounds had been healing slowly, yet Dean was still tired, pale and in pain. Sitting for hours in the car wasn't helping his recovery and it was only Dean's insistence that it would be better to get to Bobby's and relative safety, than to drive any slower and spend any more nights in dubious motels, that spurred him on.

As they drove up to the house, Castiel saw the door open and the familiar sight of Bobby coming to stand at the top of the porch steps. He could see the aura of concern around the older man and knew that the sight of Dean would not immediately set that concern to rest.

A second figure stood behind him, younger than Bobby, but maybe a year or two older than Dean. He wasn't as tall as Dean, had long hair and was well muscled. The man carried himself with an air of control and restraint. The same concern he had registered in Bobby was also emanating from this second figure but there was also something else, another feeling, one Castiel did not have time to try and identify.

As he stopped the car both figures were already down the steps and half way across the intervening distance, Bobby towards Castiel's side of the car and the other man, Eliot, Castiel supposed, headed directly to Dean's door. He'd grabbed hold of the handle and had opened the door before Dean had time to try himself. The pillow between his side and the door toppled out to land at Eliot's feet and the man almost growled as he leant forward, "Dean . . ."

Castiel was surprised to see Dean reach for Eliot's hand and grasp hold of it before saying quietly, "It's healing, not there yet, but . . . What are you doing here, El?"

Eliot ignored the question, instead he reached in to help Dean lever himself out and then he supported his weight into the house, leaving Castiel alone to face Bobby's ire. "What did you let happen to that boy? Where's your angelic powers? Heal him! You expect him to sacrifice everything for you and suffer like this! I don't see you suffering here!"

Castiel raised himself slowly from the car, shoving the door closed behind him as he drew himself up to his vessel's full height. "I did not ilet/i anything happen to him. He and I fought alongside each other, but we were abandoned by our own forces. There should have been other angels there, they, andi Sam/i, did not come. The demons were . . . more than we could overcome alone. We held them off, fought and killed as many as we could until they turned tail and ran, but by that time he and I were both injured."

"So? It looks to me like you're wandering around there fine and dandy and he can barely stand!" Bobby snarled, his anger not diminished in the least by the angel's imposing countenance.

Castiel blinked calmly, waiting for Bobby to settle before replying. "We were both injured, my choices were limited-"

"So you fixed yourself up good and proper. You fu-" Bobby yelled.

"No! I healed my injuries enough that I could function, then worked on his, but I needed to retain enough strength to make sure we could escape and then to conceal us. I have not fully recovered from my injuries although they are, as you say, far less severe than Dean's. iThis/i was the only way I could protect him. There was every chance the demons would continue to try to track us . . . there still is."

Bobby's anger was still clear, but reason and understanding prevailed and he calmed somewhat. "Does he know?" Castiel nodded. "Will you be staying or are you clearing out now there's someone else to look after him?"

"I have no intention of leaving him unprotected," Castiel held up a hand to stop Bobby's interruption. "I know you have protections laid about this place. I know you and," he waved a hand in the direction Dean and Eliot had disappeared into the house, "Eliot will want to look after him, but I wish to keep a close watch upon him also. If I am not welcome then . . ."

Bobby sighed, "There's room in the house, just . . ." Castiel nodded and turned to retrieve Dean's duffle bag before carrying it into the house.

* * *

Eliot was appalled. Dean was too pale, looked too tired, and the pain was etched deep into his face for those who knew what to look for. He was grateful there were no more steps after those to the porch. He helped Dean inside and led him, without asking, to the downstairs bedroom where he'd been sleeping. He ignored Dean's attempts to object, merely muttering his own version of soothing with a grumbled, "Gonna get you laid down, dude. Gonna take care of ya."

Dean gave up the fight, leaning into Eliot's warm solidity, much to the older man's relief. He led Dean to the bed, lowering him gently, then knelt in front of Dean to remove his boots. Dean moved awkwardly as he tried to pull his overshirt off. Eliot knew the feeling, pain from healing injuries combined with the stiffness of sitting in a car for prolonged periods of time. "You need help to get your jeans off, Dean? You'll be more comfortable."

Dean looked round the room for a moment before whispering, "Where're you. . .?"

Eliot sighed and looked away. It was what he'd feared when he saw the other man driving Dean's car. Eyes sinking to the floor as he rose, he gave a wave in the direction of the door, surprised to feel Dean's hand close round his. Dean's eyes were focussed intently as he whispered, "Stay. Please."

Eliot sat quietly next to Dean on the bed, their bodies aligned as he turned his head to look over Dean's hunched form. "Dean," he murmured, as Dean's face lifted to his, one arm slipping up behind Eliot to pull him closer. Forehead to forehead, Eliot whispered, "I've missed you." Dean hummed in agreement.

They remained like that for a moment or two longer before Eliot ran a hand up Dean's back and insisted again that Dean needed to rest. "So your jeans. . .?" he asked.

He could feel Dean shrug and knew he'd be smirking as he spoke, "You just want to get me naked, dude."

"Always," Eliot pulled back carefully, easing Dean up to his feet long enough to help him step out of his jeans. He sat down beside Dean, not particularly surprised when Dean awkwardly shifted until he was lying close, his head resting beside Eliot's thigh.

Eliot's hand fell to his head, fingers sifting through his hair until he was sure Dean was sleeping soundly. As he slipped away, he stood for a moment beside the bed, looking down at his sleeping friend. He moved to a chair where he had left a t-shirt earlier, lifting it up he returned to Dean's side.

It was their promise.

So often over the years they'd known each other, one of them had had to slip away in the middle of the night, both of them hating goodbyes, hating the reality that they may never see one another again - so they would never wake the other. If they planned to return, they would leave a piece of clothing tucked in beside their still sleeping partner. Sentimentality, foolishness . . . their own little ritual, something they never really spoke about, but it meant too much to just forget about it, even though Eliot couldn't remember now how they'd started it.

Eliot walked to the kitchen where he found Bobby moving things around as if he was thinking of starting to cook and not sure whether to bother. "Where's the other guy?" Eliot asked, surprised when Bobby jumped. It wasn't like the older man to be so distracted that someone could creep up on him.

"Castiel. That's his name. I dunno. He went some place. Business to see to or whatever," Bobby vaguely gestured out the window. Eliot frowned seeing the Impala still sitting where she'd been left.

"He seemed pretty okay for someone who was in the same fight as Dean," Eliot growled.

Bobby nodded with agreement, but didn't say a word, still not entirely happy with the angel's explanation and not yet ready to fully let go of his own anger. He also wanted to string up the younger Winchester. Where the hell was Sam? How could he leave his brother to face any of this alone? Instead he just turned to look at Eliot and said, "Dean. . .?"

Eliot couldn't say much. He'd helped Dean to bed, made sure the two of them were going to be okay and then waited until he was asleep. He said as much to Bobby, who just seemed relieved that Dean was sleeping and that he'd accepted Eliot's help. "You want me to cook?"

With a snort Bobby stepped back and, with a wave, indicated that Eliot should make himself at home in the kitchen. Bobby was many things but a good cook - beyond the basics - was not one of them. Eliot on the other hand . . . Yeah, Bobby didn't need telling twice to accept offers like that when they came along.

He was just turning to leave the room, when Eliot asked, "So will he back in time for food? The other guy?"

Bobby looked over his shoulder and frowned, certain he'd already told Eliot Castiel's name, but Eliot was turned the other way so he couldn't see anything in his face and there was nothing definite in his voice. "Do enough for him, but don't worry if he's not here. I could always freeze it up for later, you know, when you're not around to cook for the needy!" Bobby relaxed a little when he heard Eliot laugh at his suggestion.

Bobby strolled outside, quickly looking round for Castiel. He wanted to find out more about what he and Dean had been doing out there alone, abandoned by both Sam and the Angels.

Where the hell was Sam anyway? Bad enough he hadn't been there when his brother needed him, worse still he hadn't turned up with his brother injured like this. Dean had had too much of that before, too much of being let down by his brother and father. Glancing back at the house, the thought crossed his mind that at least he and Eliot were really here for Dean, no ulterior motives needed.

* * *

The food was cooked, the aroma spreading through the house and bringing Bobby back into the kitchen to grin at the sight of Eliot serving it with his usual style. Hell if Bobby knew when or how the boy learnt to cook so well, but no way was he going to be eejit enough to complain. Castiel hovered by the other door watching Eliot's movements but not saying a word as he ignored the intermittent glares Eliot was casting in his direction.

"Summat smells good, boy," Bobby was surprised when, rather than relaxing Eliot glared at him as well.

Eliot slammed two plates down onto the table, "Sit down and eat." The weight of his glare returned to the silent figure of Castiel. He lifted two more plates onto a tray - along with two sodas and a packet of painkillers.

"I shall take food to Dean," Castiel announced. Bobby pondered whether to break up the imminent duking session before it began, or whether to leave them to sort it out themselves.

"You can sit and eat that or you can fuck off for all I care," Eliot replied, turning his back on the angel as he walked to the door carrying the tray.

Seeing the angel about to react, Bobby figured maybe he should intervene, after all maybe he hadn't fully explained to Eliot iwhat/i Castiel was. "Castiel, sit down. Food's good, don't let it go to waste. Dean'll be fine with Eliot. Take a break. Let the boys have some time together, it's been a while since they've had chance to catch up. You can tell me again how you and Dean ended up facing a pack of demons on your own and getting your asses kicked."

* * *

Eliot opened the bedroom door to see Dean was still asleep. He set the tray down by the bed and sat down to rouse Dean. Reaching his hand out, he could feel the heat pouring off him, see the sheen of sweat on his skin, the frown of pain even in sleep. "Dean," he repeated softly, until Dean finally stirred, eyes fluttering open just as his body shifted, causing a harsh flinch as the pain spread.

Eliot gave him time to come round before helping him sit up, already wondering whether he should take the food away and make something simpler. Dean picked at the food half-heartedly, apologizing from the outset that he wasn't really hungry, wasn't going to be able to eat it all. Eliot just reassured him, not voicing his concerns. He'd come here to get away, find a sense of self; fuck Nathan Ford and the others and their ideas of friendship and family. This, here, now, was real family. He'd been deluded to think he could trust the others, to believe in the 'team' they'd continually spoken of. Sophie's betrayal should've been anything but a surprise.

With his own food finished, and Dean merely toying with his, Eliot set both plates to one side, before casting an arm round Dean's shoulders and settling in to rest together for a while. "Missed ya, dude. 'S been a long time."

Dean's hand slipped over to rest on Eliot's thigh, rubbing his thumb gently along the seam, "Wish it was easier than this."

Eliot agreed quietly. Silence fell, the two men just resting together, away from the world, soaking up each other's presence for a while.

Finally Dean asked where Eliot had been, what he'd been doing, and Eliot began to talk. Of the craziness that was Parker, of the girl diving off buildings without a qualm, of how she'd stabbed a mark who'd pissed her off with a fork. He spoke of Hardison, the geek with a heart of gold; of how he manipulated and eavesdropped, of the way his mouth would run away with him and the garbage that would fall from it to bluff, confuse and conceal what was really happening. Of how he and Hardison would snark and snap at each other from morning to night, and beyond. When he felt Dean's grip on his thigh tighten, he reassured that that was all there was between them. He was Dean's, no question.

Neither of them expected monogamy, but both knew there was a difference between a night or two here and there and a relationship. Eliot was pleased at Dean's sign of still wanting that, still wanting them. He rambled on for a while, telling Dean of some of the places he'd been, jobs he'd done, talking of Parker and Hardison and avoiding the subject of Sophie and Nate.

Dean shuddered beside him and Eliot frowned, "You cold, dude?" Dean gave a slightly uncoordinated nod and tried to shift closer. Eliot lifted a hand to feel Dean's forehead again, recognizing the still increasing heat even as Dean tried to push his hand away ineffectually. "I'm gonna get the first aid kit and check your side out," Eliot murmured softly, "Then you're gonna get some more rest."

Dean agreed, but only shifted away to let Eliot stand when Eliot actually helped him. Taking a closer look at Dean, he could see a bleariness to his expression, the confusion and incoherence of the sick. Eliot took the tray and plates away with him, returning minutes later with everything he'd need to redress the wound on Dean's side.

He carefully cut away the bandaging, murmuring reassurances and looking up to see Dean's watchful eyes filled with exhaustion and pain. Looking down again, he saw the gash, recognized an uneven stab wound rife with infection as thick black-green pus oozed from its center. "Shit man, that's pretty disgusting." He worked quickly to clean it up as much as he could, before re-covering it.

Once finished, he helped Dean stand long enough for him to get ready for bed. When he lay down, he asked hesitantly, "You're gonna be here, yeah? With me?"

Eliot smiled and lay down next to him, "Where else would I be? No better offers, man." He rested one hand carefully on Dean's stomach, relieved when Dean's hand settled over it and their fingers loosely intertwined. It didn't take long for the two of them to fall asleep, soothed by each other's company.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

It was hours later when Eliot was woken by a pained moan from Dean. He snapped to full alertness, leaning across to turn on the light beside the bed before turning back to Dean. The younger man was still asleep, but his face was twisted with pain and sweat glistened in the dim light. Reaching out gently, Eliot let his hand fall to Dean's forehead, instantly taking in the now raging temperature. Dean moaned again and tried to retreat from Eliot's touch.

"Ssh, Dean," Eliot tried to calm him, but wanted him to wake so he could find out more. "Hey, come on, wake up for me." Dean slowly seemed to come around although even when he did, Eliot couldn't get any real sense out of him. Dean's words were confused and rambling as he tried to convince Eliot to leave him alone and let him sleep. As he shifted, Eliot's hand went out to keep him still and Dean bolted upright, shouting out with pain as Eliot's hand brushed against the bandaging covering the wound in his side.

"That's not good, dude," Eliot said simply. "You're gonna lie back down for me and I'm gonna take another look at that." His words were met with a whimper as Dean tried to push him away. He stroked a hand soothingly back through Dean's hair, brushing it away from his forehead, watched as Dean's heavy eyes closed again and he stopped trying to turn away.

Eliot quickly retrieved the first aid kit that he had put away earlier in the evening, aware now that the house was in darkness, the hour late enough that Bobby - and presumably Castiel - had headed to the bedrooms upstairs.

Returning to the bedroom, he turned on the lamp closest to Dean, giving himself more light to work by, but hoping that it was not enough to hurt Dean's eyes if he opened them again. Eliot began to cut away the bandages again. He noticed, as he started that they were already soaking through. With the wound exposed, he could see immediately that it had deteriorated since his earlier check. The pus was thicker and even more abundant than earlier in the evening.

He stood, moving to the door, to call for Bobby. This was something he knew nothing about, if there was one lesson he had learnt well in the years he'd known Bobby and Dean, it was that not all of their injuries needed traditional first aid.

As soon as he'd called, he moved back to Dean's side, capturing his hand as it moved toward the now exposed wound. "No, Dean, no. Trust me, we'll look after it for you." He could see as Dean's eyes opened fully again and gave him a confused look. Eliot knew that it was not a good sign; high fever and infection, he'd been there himself, had the resulting confusion, even so far as hallucinating. Knowing Dean, this was probably no ordinarily infected wound. "Lie still, dude." Dean calmed and settled at the sound of his voice so he continued to murmur on random subjects. Dean wasn't really taking any of his words in, but the sound in itself was important, letting him know someone he knew was there with him.

Bobby entered the room, moving to Eliot's side and already taking note of Dean's deteriorating state. He looked down at the open wound in all its gory detail. His face was grim as he started to speak, "We'll need to get his temperature down, try and get some of that crap out, I guess. You want to hold him down while I'll try and clean some of it out. Knowing him, he'll fight you holding him back less than me."

Eliot nodded reluctantly, knowing Bobby was right. They'd both had experience of trying to patch an out-of-it Dean up in the past and it was never pleasant. Dean ialways/i fought back.

Eliot moved into position, sliding onto the bed behind Dean and starting to pull him close so he could try and keep him calm with his voice at the same time as actually physically restraining him. Bobby went to fetch further supplies.

He looked up at a sound at the door expecting to see Bobby, but instead taking in the sight of Castiel. "Did you want something?" Eliot growled, eyes glaring furiously. He still didn't know what had happened but as far as he was concerned anything that left Dean in this state and the other man wandering around without a scratch was suspicious.

"I came to see Dean. There is a problem with his health."

It was only the fact that he was already holding Dean that stopped Eliot from flying across the room with his fists clenched ready to connect with the bastard standing in the doorway. "Get the fuck out!" Eliot snarled. He tightened his grip on Dean as the sick man reacted to the anger in the room, a whimper as he tried to pull away. "Sssh, dude, 's just me, Dean. I'm here now."

Rather than retreating, Castiel stepped into the room, as if to head for the bedside to look closer at Dean. "I can heal him," he said simply.

"You! You can what?!" Eliot fumed.

"I can heal him."

Bobby stood behind him and he was the one to respond, cutting in before Eliot could say anything more, "You? Thought you said you couldn't earlier. I thought you weren't strong enough? Isn't that what you said?"

Eliot murmured softly to Dean as, yet again, the anger in the room drew a confused but anxious reaction from the sick man. Castiel stepped forward, dislodging Bobby's restraining hand. "You both need to leave."

"Like Hell, I'm going anywhere!" snapped Eliot, tightening his hold on Dean without thinking, until Dean moaned in pain and tried to twist away. "Sssh! Hold still, Dean, 's gonna be okay," his voice dropped again instantly.

Bobby pushed in front of Castiel, deliberately placing himself firmly between the angel and the two men on the bed. It would be no real deterrent if Castiel decided to unleash any real power on him, but Bobby figured even a show of defiance at this point might be enough to get at least some sort of explanation of what Castiel had in mind. "What are you intending doing? And what state are the pair of you going to be in afterwards?" he demanded.

Castiel shrugged, the gesture strange and unexpected. "It matters not. It will help Dean recover, probably not fully but you will ensure he stays safe. If it is too much for me, then perhaps a replacement may come."

"A replacement!" Bobby snarled. "A replacement! Don't give me that shit! They don't turn up for a fucking planned attack but you think they're going to send a i replacement/i when you 'wear' yourself out!"

"They want him alive," Castiel said bluntly.

"Yeah? You think so?" Bobby responded. "Given their last no-show, the fuck-up with Alistair and any number of other examples you want me to reel off, I'm not so sure they give a damn whether he's alive or not! What use are you out of action? How much is this going to take from you?"

Eliot couldn't have said what happened next. He wasn't sure but he thought he saw Castiel give a slight twist of his wrist, but the next thing he knew Bobby was leaving and Castiel's eyes were on his. He felt exposed and vulnerable, afraid for both himself and Dean. There was a flicker of awareness in Castiel's eyes before he spoke, "Eliot, I mean you no harm, nor Dean. I can help him, start the healing for him. He will not be strong afterwards but I hope he will be able to fight it. . . You and Bobby must take care of him, protect him . . . Keep him safe if Sam . . ." he seemed unsure as if not entirely convinced of what the problem would be with Sam.

Eliot had his own opinion of Dean's younger brother, not entirely based on fact, more on supposition in truth. He'd heard the stories from Dean and Bobby. Dean's that painted his brother as driven and fiercely intelligent and Bobby's that weren't so different but add another dimension, that of a person who saw the world through their own eyes, forgetting at times to look and see others' pain and suffering. As far as Eliot could tell Sam was a young man who didn't always see his brother's sacrifices. He'd met Sam twice, seen the pride in Dean's eyes and the hurt that he couldn't always protect his brother from the world. He'd been struck by Sam's attitude; the love balanced with a sense of superiority over Dean that Eliot had always wanted to beat out of him.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said simply. "If you think you can heal him, go ahead, but I'm staying."

Castiel had an almost regretful expression when he again insisted that Eliot leave. Eliot saw it for sure this time, the twist of the wrist and he felt Dean's weight leave him and his own body start to act against his will, abandoning Dean as he was forced out the door. He heard a murmur against his ear, "Don't fight it, Eliot and I won't hurt you. Believe! Believe that what I do now, I do for Dean, for the best."

Eliot screamed his refusal, fought against his own unrelenting body, but not a sound escaped and his body continued to move forwards. The door clicked closed behind him and his legs carried him through to the kitchen where he dropped unceremoniously into a chair opposite Bobby.

Time passed and Eliot's fury continued to rage but his body still refused to cooperate with his demands. Windows to the soul; he could see the same war in Bobby's eyes and wondered how long they would be held like this, how long until he could see what state Dean was in.

* * *

Castiel moved to sit beside Dean on the bed, calling his name softly as he ran one hand across Dean's forehead trying to draw away the confusion from the young man's mind so they could speak. When Dean's eyes finally settled on his, focussed but pained, Castiel drew his hand back and began to question.

Castiel felt a rage inside himself as Dean sighed before beginning to wearily explain the pain of an aching body, the raging heat inside, the agonized gut deep pull and throb of the wound in his side, the weariness that begged him not to fight anymore but just to give in. This human suffering was something different to that which Castiel had experienced on the angelic plane of existence, it was both more and less than he had seen in angels. The pain was intensified in the lack of surety in God's grace. For a moment Castiel wondered if it was like this for all humans, cast his mind through Jimmy's memories and realized that to some extent this was the lot of humans, pain without guarantee. He may not ever have seen or spoken with God himself, but in his being there was no doubt in God's existence. Humans were supposed to have faith, faith without proof, faith when proof seemed to indicate there was no God. Dean's life was nothing but pain and suffering, yet despite all that he continued to sacrifice and he continued to love. There was no room for God in the equations of Dean's life. Castiel could not imagine what the pain of being Godless really meant, to sacrifice so much with no belief that there was better to come. He felt the pain tear at his mind, felt it threatening to overwhelm him, crash over him like a tidal wave dragging him down and down and he gasped in horror.

"Cas?" Dean croaked, voice like broken glass, but it was enough, enough to break Castiel's descent into the abyss that had threatened.

He snapped back into his human form, attention back on Dean and he felt warmed by Dean's concern, felt 'loved' and felt himself love in return. "I will help now, Dean. I will do all I can." With tears in his eyes, Castiel silently said goodbye, knowing that this sacrifice would be worth it. He lay one hand over Dean's heart, barely heard the sigh that passed Dean's lips as he pushed strength first into Dean's heart and soul, knowing that Dean would need it to keep fighting. A moment or two later he settled his other hand above the poisoned wound, not touching it. He drew a calming breath, cast a prayer of thanks to Heaven and then began to mentally pull the foul poison out of the wound. He used the hand over Dean's heart to reassure and steady the young man and to keep him as still as possible as he drew the festering evil from his body. The pus oozed thickly, pouring out and on to the sheet below.

Dean moaned and tried to pull away and Castiel rested more weight on the hand on Dean's chest, hoping his strength would last as he felt his own wounds begin to reopen.

The flow of poison continued and Castiel struggled to pull harder, quicker, hoping it would have all been dragged out before his end came. He saw the flow begin to slow. His strength fading too quickly, "I'm sorry, Dean," he murmured softly as he knew even this sacrifice would not be enough. Even this would not free Dean from his suffering. He was not strong enough to heal Dean fully, but he would throw every last ounce of his essence into the attempt.

Castiel narrowed every thought down to Dean. For the first time in his existence he closed off thoughts of his brethren, of his God, and tried to force his sacrifice into Dean's being, praying it would ensure the young man's survival. Castiel was so intent on his task he did not at first recognize the resistance he was now meeting. The rebound of his healing powers did not go unnoticed, but he resisted recognizing it for what it was until the power was rejected and pushed back. He jerked out of his trance at the croaked sound of his name, "Cas . . . Cas stop!"

He snatched his hands back from Dean, shocked at the sight of pain and determination before him. He felt himself wobble, his consciousness waver slightly before he slumped from the side of the bed to the floor accompanied only by a thud as his body hit the floor, and the sound of Dean's voice, "Cas!"

hr

Eliot and Bobby both shivered as they regained control of their bodies. It was Eliot who was on his feet first and heading for the bedroom with Bobby's voice calling from behind telling him to wait. He paused at the door frightened of what he might find beyond.

The pause gave Bobby enough time to catch up and they both heard the hoarse cry of "Cas!" followed by the sound of someone falling and a lamp being knocked to the ground. Shoving the door open, the two men went barrelling in.

Castiel lay slumped on the floor, unmoving, eyes closed, head to one side, limbs askew. Dean had fallen from the bed, still tangled in the sheets, head lying beside Castiel, hands reaching out as if to touch the angel. The bedside lamp lay beside them both, in pieces.

Eliot rushed to Dean, hands feeling quickly as if to check for broken bones, before he carefully turned the younger man, drawing him gently to lie with his head resting against Eliot's chest. Bobby knelt to help him. "His temperature's lower," Eliot said softly.

The sound of a voice drew a reaction that the movement before it hadn't. Dean turned his head seeking the source of the voice, then muttered, "Cas. Stop!" Eliot brushed his hair back, cradling him protectively as Bobby tried to extricate him from the sheets and expose the wound. Dean's hand flapped at him as if to push him away, until Eliot held him still. He moaned Castiel's name again and Eliot tried hard to clamp down the surge of jealousy that seethed within him.

"It's better than it was. Not healed but still." As he pulled the tangled sheet away, Bobby saw the thick mess staining it, "Shit! That's disgusting. At least it's out now. 's gotta give it a better chance of healing. You got him? I'm gonna check Castiel now." Bobby moved reluctantly across to the angel wondering what the hell he was supposed to be checking for and how he was supposed to deal with anything he found. He reached for his wrist wondering if Castiel even had a pulse, wondering whether the angel might just have vacated the host body and set off in search of a replacement.

He heard Eliot's soft rumble behind him as he talked to Dean, guiding him slowly to consciousness, still mumbling Castiel's name.

Looking back at the angel's body, Bobby saw spreading bloodstains and carefully eased back his shirt to expose neatly stitched wounds, some of which had broken open and were now oozing blood. Hell, the angel might have been walking round before, but evidence proved he was far from fully healed and these latest exertions had clearly drained his energy further.

Bobby sighed. He could patch and bandage the wounds, take care of the vessel's body but the rest would be up to God. He turned, reaching for the first aid kit which had fallen to the floor along with everything else, focussing his full attention on repairing what he could of the angel's body, tuning out the mumbled conversation between Eliot and Dean.

With the wounds cleaned and dressed, he stood, pulling the remainder of the sheets from the bed and carrying them from the room. He returned moments later with a fresh set and as he threw them across the bed, he began to talk to Eliot. "We'll get Dean back in here, get that wound cleaned and dressed, get him dosed up and hopefully he'll fall back to sleep. Then you're going to have to help me try to get Castiel out of here and either onto the couch or upstairs into his own bed. They both need rest. We'll have to just take it from there, watch them both closely. I've done what I can for his injuries but the rest is beyond me."

"He really is a healer?" Eliot said softly. "I didn't think he could do anything."

"No . . ." Bobby talked quietly, careful to keep his voice soft so as not to disturb Dean, explaining how Castiel was an angel, that he and Dean had been fighting a demon attack and that for some reason their reinforcements had not appeared and nor had Sam. Eliot asked a few questions, but for the most part he just listened, his hold on Dean firm until Bobby had the bed ready, then he shifted his weight as Bobby took hold of Dean's legs and together they lifted him onto the bed.

He quickly cleaned the area around the wound and redressed it before carefully replacing Dean's t-shirt with a clean one. He gasped at the sight of a bright scarred handprint on Dean's upper arm, shaken at the thought of what could have done that to him. Bobby's hand on his shoulder was enough to break the spell and have him finishing what he'd started before drawing the covers up over Dean and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He turned his attention then to helping Bobby move Castiel. It took the two of them a while to figure out the easiest way to move him but they managed to slowly get him up the stairs and into his own bed. Bobby seemed relieved as he was sure the angel was sleeping now more than away from his body.

Back downstairs and Eliot hovered unsure whether to head straight back to Dean or to press Bobby for answers to some of his questions. It was difficult. Bobby and Dean had always been truthful about hunting, as far as he knew, but there was more to this, something he didn't understand. It was not long ago that when he'd seen Dean, he'd been an emotional wreck. He'd picked fight after fight with anyone, Eliot included, riling people up, trying to get a reaction. Finally, after dragging Dean out of yet another unnecessary bar brawl, Eliot had threatened to leave, said he wasn't going to put up with the shit any longer. He'd felt like a prize ass even as he'd said it, knowing he didn't want it to be true, but it had had the desired effect. Dean had stopped running, admitted that his father had died, admitted that he couldn't handle it, couldn't deal with it, it was too much. It hadn't been easy after that, but Eliot had at least in part understood.

They'd caught up a couple of times since and Dean had often seemed burdened, but over their last few meetings Dean had been far more tactile and affectionate than Eliot had been used to. Not that he was complaining, after all it wasn't like Dean was doing anything outside the privacy of wherever they were staying. Then there had been nothing, not even a response to a text message, not a single word for months on end and Eliot had begun to wonder if he'd died, but he'd been so caught up in everything in his own life he hadn't had time to drive up to Bobby's and that was one thing he didn't want to hear over the phone. If Dean was dead he wanted to hear it in person and so the first chance he got to take a break from the team he would drive to the salvage yard. Ironic really, that the first opportunity had been caused by the demise of the team, but when Bobby had opened that door and promised him Dean was alive, he'd felt the wash of relief race through him.

Now, however, things were different. This time Dean was physically injured, but even given that information, he'd clung to Eliot in a way he never had before, even in those last few months. Eliot wondered if perhaps Dean was clinging to him because he was available - and what he really wanted was the angel. He'd been calling Castiel's name, sobbing it out when he was barely conscious. Eliot didn't know whether he wanted to know or whether he just wanted to take what Dean was willing to give before it was taken away forever.

"Eliot, check on Dean and then come to the kitchen," Bobby's instruction left no room for argument. He nodded and moved to quickly check that Dean was fine. His footsteps for the return journey were slower, reluctant for once to know the truth.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Bobby talked for an age, Eliot had no idea how long, just knew that he himself had said almost nothing as he'd listened to Bobby's words in horror. When Bobby finally stopped and told him to go to bed, he'd been tempted to pull blankets from the closet and sleep on the couch, but Bobby had been ahead of him and had directed him back to his own bed.

He sat by the bed watching Dean's even breaths as his chest expanded and retracted steadily. Eliot was exhausted and overwhelmed and he didn't know where he stood. Bobby had said there was nothing like that going on between Dean and Castiel, but he couldn't be sure, couldn't trust enough to believe. He knew letting people close was a mistake, after all, that was why he was here, running again, only to be presented with more confusion, more emotional turmoil. He'd wanted peace, he'd wanted the reassurance of knowing someone cared for him, that he just had to be himself for once; that was all Dean and Bobby had ever asked of him in the past.

He felt the tears on his cheeks and wiped them away angrily. He was tired, afraid Dean had really been going to die this time, jealous - and now he didn't know where he stood.

"El?" Dean's eyes were on him, one hand twitching in his direction. Eliot wiped his eyes again and forced a half smile of reassurance onto his face, after all, none of this was Dean's fault.

"Hey dude," he greeted, standing up and moving closer so he could take hold of Dean's hand. "How about I help you sit up a little and you have some water and some more pills, huh?"

"Wha's wrong?" Dean croaked, his hand giving a slight squeeze to Eliot's.

"Nothing's wrong. Just watching, making sure you're okay, darlin'"

"Asshole!" Dean gave a tired smirk. "I feel like shit. Water might be good." There was a sudden flicker in his eyes and they widened anxiously, "Wh-Where's Cas?"

Eliot braced himself not to react, "He's in bed, upstairs. Pretty much out of it. He . . . Well I don't know what he did exactly, but you were really bad and he did something and loads of the foul crap in your side came out. Your temp dropped and you're a darn sight more lucid than you were." Eliot settled beside Dean, helping him lift his head enough to sip at the glass of water.

Dean sipped a few times cautiously before letting his head drop back against Eliot and his eyes drift closed. When he opened them again, he whispered, "Is he going to be okay? Is Cas going to be okay?"

Eliot let his hand drift soothingly down Dean's arm, "Bobby thinks he just needs to sleep off whatever he did. But iyou/i need to rest, too. He's helped, but you're far from being one hundred percent. Close your eyes and sleep." When Dean started to interrupt Eliot lay his hand across Dean's mouth, the move gentle but insistent, "No, sleep now. We'll talk tomorrow." As Dean's eyes closed, Eliot let his hand slip away.

Dean opened his eyes again and Eliot gave a huff of exasperation. "If you don't rest all that hard work your friend put in is gonna be wasted, dude!"

Dean's hand grasped weakly at his arm, his voice pleading, "Stay, El. Please stay with me."

Eliot nodded, "I'll stay 'til morning. Just let's move a bit, get comfortable, huh?" He lowered Dean so he was lying on the pillow beside him, and was unsurprised when Dean edged closer, resting his head against his shoulder. Dean finally seemed to settle, eyes closing. It wasn't long before his breathing evened out in sleep. Eliot lay alongside, waiting for him to wake, unwilling to go back on his promise, despite the torture of knowing this would be the last time they would lie like this. Tomorrow he would finish it with Dean, leave him free to be with Castiel.

He figured it was typical of Dean, not wanting to hurt anyone, so he would take the brunt of the pain on himself. Eliot could follow the thinking, anything more than a one night stand was cheating, that was what they'd agreed years ago. More than one night was more than scratching an itch. Castiel was more than an itch and Dean wouldn't cheat, so Eliot had to set him free. He wryly thought he'd heard some ridiculous saying about loving something and setting it free. Well, right then it was hurting, horrible nauseating, churning hurt inside and it was going to keep on hurting until he could get away and drown his sorrows. He'd have to stay a few days, keep up the facade so that he didn't hurt Dean, long enough to set his mind at rest and make sure he really was healing then he was out of here. He could go and piece himself back together alone somewhere. Figured it was just his luck that he'd lose the team and come looking for Dean to help him through it, only to lose Dean as well.

* * *

Bobby checked on Castiel in the morning, relieved to see the angel sprawled out like a child in sleep, snoring. He almost wished he had a camera to hand to take a picture of the normally austere angel so relaxed, something to let Dean tease him with later. In the meantime though, he was relieved the angel had made it safely through the night and seemed to be healing without the need for further intervention.

He hoped he would find the same when Dean rose this morning.

He headed out to feed the dogs before returning to the kitchen to start breakfast, half hoping Eliot would come and save him from the effort, despite knowing he'd probably spent the night keeping a vigil over Dean.

He heard a door open and close and footsteps cross to the bathroom, probably Eliot judging by the ease with which he moved. When he heard the shower flick on, he hoped it was Eliot and that Dean wasn't going to try and shower straight away. A few minutes later and the shower turned off again. He listened to the footsteps retreating back to the bedroom.

He sat at the table with coffee, deciding to wait on breakfast until he had at least one companion now he knew Eliot was awake. It didn't take long for the bedroom door to open again and he stood ready to make a second cup of coffee, but the footsteps didn't head his way, instead he listened as there was a shuffle of steps across from the bedroom to the bathroom, accompanied by the soft murmur of voices.

He could hear the clank of the house's old pipes that signalled more running water and sat back down to wait. It took longer this time and when the door finally opened the shuffled steps seemed to be heading towards the kitchen. It was no surprise to see Dean enter the room, supported by an exhausted looking Eliot. Dean was pale, but looked much better than when he'd arrived.

Bobby smiled in greeting and Dean's warm smile lit up his face, chasing away any signs of pain. Dean shrugged off Eliot's helping hand and stepped carefully across to Bobby, "'S good to see you, old man." Bobby couldn't help but agree, wrapping his arms around the solid bulk of Dean's chest and reassuring himself that this was Dean, alive and healing. He turned and guided the young man to a seat, promising food. As soon as he had Dean seated, he stepped back to check him over again, turning to Eliot to ask whether he'd checked the injuries that morning and changed the dressings. It was Dean who reassured him that Eliot had been thorough and everything was fine, much better.

Eliot busied himself preparing something for them to eat, his attention seeming to be entirely focussed on his task. Bobby caught Dean's eyes fretfully following Eliot's every move and wondered what the problem between the two boys was. It wasn't like them to be at odds. Over the years, he'd known them have a few disagreements, but they tended to argue loud and fast and then fix whatever the problem was. The complete opposite, he reflected, to how Dean argued with his family.

He'd watched the two of them negotiate the pitfalls of what had to be a complicated relationship, but they both seemed to understand the need for compromise, both seemed willing to give to the other while neither wanted to take advantage. He didn't know much about Eliot's background, but Dean's he knew plenty, knew that the Winchesters as a family didn't know much about compromise in day to day life until it would come to something huge. Within their own ranks, Dean knew everything about sacrifice and about being taken advantage of daily, however unintentionally Sam and John had done it. He'd often wondered if Eliot's background had been similar.

* * *

The boys sat together on the swing seat on the porch, Eliot stiff and upright as Dean leant into him seeking comfort. Bobby was working on the other side of the yard and, as far as they knew, Castiel was still sleeping. Bobby had taken a snap or two of the boys relaxing in the past with a camera he'd had for years. He'd been tempted to do the same again, but then, seeing the distance between them, figured maybe it was better not to immortalize it on film.

It was the two of them who reminded him of the camera years ago. They'd been joking around about forgetting what the other looked like, walking past one another in the street because it was that long between visits. He'd spent an afternoon hunting round the house until he'd finally found it and been able to take some snapshots of the two of them individually and apart. He'd had them developed, knew Dean at least carried a picture of Eliot in his wallet. He'd found it when they'd been preparing to bury him. He'd hidden it from Sam, knowing Dean had always kept secret just what his relationship with Eliot was, and then made sure it went into the coffin with him . . . like it made a difference. The picture hadn't survived Dean's resurrection intact, but Dean had known it had been with him and when he'd returned to Bobby's, he'd asked if he had anymore. He'd avoided the issue of whether Bobby had told Eliot he was dead or not.

It was time they had some more photos to treasure. There was something wrong with them this morning though, Eliot's usual poise lacking, all of the contact being initiated by Dean and returned in only its minimalist form by Eliot. He hoped that this latest injury wouldn't be what pushed Eliot away, knew that Dean needed something to hang on to, something that was his without question, without demand. Dean had faced too much to protect the ones he loved and much as Bobby knew he would sacrifice everything for Eliot, Bobby also knew that the feeling had been reciprocated in full. It was the only equal relationship Bobby had ever known him have.

* * *

Dean wasn't up to managing the stairs, but sent both Eliot and Bobby upstairs regularly to check on Castiel, unsure whether to be content with the 'he's sleeping' but unable to overcome the restraint Eliot imposed on him not to try and tackle the stairs. Regular doses of the painkillers and the discomfort he was still in drove Dean to return to his own bed early. His eyes pleaded with Eliot to accompany him, although the words would not pass his lips.

Eliot helped him through to the other room, giving the injuries one last check before turning the main light off as Dean lay down. He left the bedside light on and said he would be back to check on him later. As Eliot turned to leave, he saw the pleading in Dean's eyes, but hardened himself to ignore it, turning away, knowing he was hurting the person he cared for most in the world. He knew he needed to end it, it would hurt less if he dealt with it quickly, but he just couldn't quite bring himself to let go.

He left the room, heading straight to the bathroom, closing the door securely behind him and letting out the breath he had been holding, trembling and trying not to give in to the overwhelming emotions inside. He gave himself a few moments then ran some water and washed his face before heading back out to join Bobby who was watching some TV.

He sat staring at the screen, ignoring Bobby's attempts at conversation as much as he could, giving one word answers before turning back to the screen. His mind raged though, and he had no idea what he was watching. Willpower alone was keeping him from breaking, but he didn't know how much longer he could keep going.

* * *

Bobby had been surprised to see Eliot come back out of the bedroom after Dean had gone to bed. He watched the young man slump into an empty chair and appear to turn his attention to the TV without a word.

"Wasn't expectin' you back this evening? Thought you'd be staying with Dean," Bobby said simply, disappointed when he just got a 'hmph' in reply before Eliot shifted round to stare more intently at the TV. After a couple more ignored attempts at conversation, Bobby's patience was running out. "Eliot!" he said shortly, "are you planning on talking about whatever this problem is?" He could see the young man before him almost visibly shrinking in on himself with each of Bobby's attempts to elicit a response. With no more idea what was the matter, Bobby finally stood saying he was going upstairs to check on Castiel.

Upstairs he opened the door to find the angel looking directly at him, sitting on the side of the bed. Castiel was still pale and looked tired but his voice was clear, if a little unsure, when he asked tentatively, "What happened?"

Bobby shook his head in disbelief, "Who knows? I was kind of hoping you might be able to tell me. You tried healing Dean, we came in to his room to find the pair of you slumped in a heap on the floor. You've slept for almost twenty four hours straight and you're not looking brilliant right now, so I wouldn't bother getting up. There's no reason not to keep resting, everyone else is."

Castiel swallowed, clearly anxious, before questioning softly, "Dean?"

"In bed. He woke this morning, much better than he was. It looks like that wound on his side will heal now, but he's still pretty wiped out. He's not long ago taken some more painkillers and gone back to bed."

"It didn't work . . . he – he wouldn't accept the healing," Castiel sounded disappointed.

"Hmph!" Bobby snorted. "Don't talk like an eejit, boy! Course he accepted the healing, 's what I just said to you, isn' it? I'm guessing what he wouldn't accept was your complete sacrifice. What game d'you think you're playing at? He needs you around, hell we all do! You're a darn sight more useful alive than you are dead! You know I kinda expected you not to be as big an eejit as the other boys . . . I mean, aren't you supposed to be like millennia old? You're still as stupid as a dungbeetle!" Bobby shook his head in annoyance and Castiel looked almost sheepish, acknowledging the truth in what Bobby was saying.

Bobby sighed, taking pity on the weary angel, "Why don't you lie back and I'll bring you something to eat, then you can sleep and we'll see how you're doing in the morning?" Castiel gave a bare nod of acceptance and shifted his position ready to lie back down again.

Once downstairs, Bobby tried to rouse Eliot from his staring contest with the TV, "It's 'bout time he woke up. Is there any of that stew you dished up earlier?"

The younger man shrugged but didn't say a word. He was broken out of his concentration by a clip around the back of his head. He growled out his anger and flew to his feet rounding on Bobby, before suddenly taking a shocked step backwards as he realized how near to losing his control he really was. "I'm going out," he snapped, turning and virtually running for the door.

* * *

With Castiel fed, watered and sleeping again, Bobby returned downstairs to wait for Eliot to return. When almost two hours had passed, he decided to take a walk around the outside of the house, through the salvage yard just to see if Eliot was hiding out there.

Ten minutes of walking round using the security lights to search thoroughly, finally revealed Eliot sat in the back of a wrecked Impala, the remains of the one Bobby had dragged in to help Dean with spare parts when he'd been fixing up his own, a couple of years ago. There wasn't much left of it and it didn't provide any real shelter against the dropping temperature and the impending rain. Bobby spent a moment wondering whether Eliot had chosen it because of its link to Dean, but decided not to waste any more time out in the cold and headed straight over, "We need to talk. My old bones've got more sense than to think sitting out here in the godforsaken cold is a good idea, so can we please go back inside and try to fix whatever's got panties in a twist?"

Eliot shook his head before muttering there was nothing to fix. Bobby frowned, before huffing out a breath of frustration and leaning into the car. He grabbed hold of Eliot's ear and tugged it determinedly until the younger man had no choice but to move. Once he'd tugged enough to have Eliot out of the car and beside him, he let go of his ear and gave a firm push in the direction of the house, "Get inside, eejit!" He kept up the pushing and guiding with enough force to make his intention clear, whilst making sure Eliot didn't have the time to object or the balance to try and throw him off. "Three of ya! Three of ya! Like a man needs that at my age! Ya'll drive me to ima/i grave before my time!"

As they approached the steps, Bobby recognized the moment when Eliot gave up fighting. His shoulders slumped and his head dropped as he made his way up the steps without the need for any more pushing from Bobby. He walked into the den and fell on the seat he'd vacated earlier, eyes finally meeting Bobby's for a brief moment.

"Talk to me, boy," Bobby said, his eyes showing only a small amount of surprise when finally Eliot began to speak.

* * *

Eliot wasn't sure who was more surprised when he began to talk, himself or Bobby. "Figure me and Dean are through," he muttered. "What with Castiel an' all. . ."

"Castiel?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. . . can't really compete with an angel, can I? 'S not like I've got much to offer," he shrugged. He watched as Bobby frowned and pulled a face as if pondering what exactly to say. Eliot shook his head, "No, Bobby, you don't have to say anything. I just . . . I just want to be sure Dean's okay and then . . . then I'll move on. Leave ya'all be. It's – It's as it should be."

"Aw god, boy, why don't ya grow a pair? There's nothing like ithat/i between them. Castiel's an angel! You think he's going to be interested in any human hanky panky! Geez – you chuckleheads, I really can't decide which one of ya'all's the most stupid! All these years, I thought you iknew/i how Dean felt? You think he's been playing games with ya? You think as sick as he's been, he'd've driven all this way for nowt?" Eliot started to stand, but Bobby pushed him back down, "Sit Down! I thought the two of you, after all this time, all the crap . . . "

"It's not like that. We always said we wouldn't cheat, ya know? Not anything that meant anything and he hasn't. He won't . . . ever, I know that. So it's up to me to finish it, so he's free, free to do what he wants, be with who he wants!"

Bobby shook his head at the sincerity in his voice, the belief that he really was doing the right thing for Dean. "Sit down and . . . I dunno, get comfortable or something. I guess I'm going to have to tell you about some of the stuff that's been happening to your boy, 'cause I'm guessing he hasn't and knowing him, he's probably not gonna. You need to do something so the two of you aren't apart for so long in the future. He needs you. He needs someone who just wants him for who he is and that's always been you." Bobby paused thinking through his words carefully, "He's had a shit time the last couple of years. I mean the last time you saw him was . . . I dunno? When have you seen him lately?"

"I saw him after he met that woman, the one with the kid he thought might've been his . . . he was a mess, that hurt him real bad. He was talking about thrown away futures, legacies and leaving nothing worthwhile behind. He told me how his brother had been kidnapped by a demon and nearly died. He told me then he almost threw his own life away to save him," Eliot said. "None of that is the same though . . ."

"Almost threw his life away?" Bobby shook his head in disbelief. "Shit! Dean . . . Dean made a deal with a demon, his life for Sam's. He had one year to live, that's what he was really talking about with the whole futures and legacies thing."

"If – if he made a deal, how's he still here?" Eliot asked in horror. "And – and where the fuck is his brother?"

Bobby tilted his head slightly, watching Eliot's reaction carefully. The young man knew enough about hunting to believe most of what he'd tell him, but whether he'd be able to handle this story, and what it would do to his relationship with Dean, Bobby was no longer sure. He figured there was nothing left to do but soldier on. "Sam tried to find a way to save him from the deal, but there was nothing. He went to Hell . . . He hasn't really said what happened while he was there, but it was Hell, what more does he need to say . . . For a reason that sure as anything ain't clear, Castiel brought him back. I know you've seen the mark on his shoulder. Castiel's mark. So yeah, there's something between the two of them, but not what you're thinkin'. I mean, if you're gonna stick around, I figure you're gonna have to get used to Castiel. He's pretty much here to stay and we don't know why or what for; there's more to it than just pulling him out of Hell, but the angels have their own agenda. Sometimes I believe it when Castiel says he doesn't know what it is they want with your boy, sometimes I think he does and he's just not saying."

Eliot looked horrified, "But . . . Castiel . . . he was calling for him. I thought. . ." He fell silent, looking away.

"Yeah. Look Eliot, I don't know all the intricacies of their . . . whatever, same as I don't for you and him, but one thing I'm sure of is that you're the one he wants to be with, no matter how hard it is. Castiel . . . I guess they've been through stuff together, knowing Dean he feels like he owes him something, something for getting him out of hell, something for what they've been through since. I dunno, it's Dean. You tell me!"

Eliot nodded without making eye contact. The two men sat for a few minutes in silence before Eliot shifted awkwardly. "I – I think I'll go to bed now," as he stood and made his way to the door, "Good night."

Bobby smiled watching him go, figuring that maybe things could be okay again.

* * *

Eliot slipped silently into the bedroom a few minutes later, shed clothes down to his boxers and slid into the bed behind Dean, curling round the sleeping man and cautiously slipping his hand over to rest over Dean's heart as he slept. He felt his tension slip away with the feeling of Dean's heart beat steady and strong now, not racing like it had been earlier.

Dean stirred a fraction, a muttered "El?" as he fought towards wakefulness. Eliot shushed him, kissing the nape of his neck softly, relieved when he relaxed again, drifting back to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The following day, Eliot threw himself into helping Bobby until Dean woke up. From then on he was every bit the attentive boyfriend to the point even Dean was looking at him like he'd grown a second head. Not that he wasn't quite clearly enjoying the attention, particularly after the previous day's cold distance.

Castiel made it downstairs before Dean had woken up and had insisted on checking on him. He was moving a little stiffly, still looked pale and tired, but was quite clearly healing, much to Bobby's relief. Eliot's too, in a way. If the angel hadn't been healing, Eliot knew Dean would, without doubt, be feeling guilty about it.

Eliot cooked Castiel a good solid breakfast with plenty of healthy fruit, served alongside the breakfast staples of bacon, eggs, sausages and pancakes. He hovered as Castiel devoured the lot appreciatively. As Castiel wiped his plate clean with a final piece of toast, Eliot refilled both cups with coffee and sat down opposite him, trying to deliberately relax his posture so as not to appear threatening. "Funny, I never thought I'd see an angel devouring breakfast like that! Somehow I figured you guys would eat something more . . . heavenly. Manna or nectar or something," Eliot said, trying to open the atmosphere for the two of them to chat.

Castiel smirked, the expression almost certainly stolen from Dean. "Would you cook it for me if I brought some home?"

Eliot felt the heat rise in his cheeks as the thought crossed his mind that Castiel was belittling him. He opened his mouth to retort, but was beaten to it by a softening of Castiel's expression and the words, "Heavenly grace is a little on short supply right now. Normally I do not need to eat to sustain this body but . . . I'm tired and healing is . . . difficult. The battle is being waged on many fronts and there is no one else for me to fall back on at this time. I work with the resources to hand and you cook well."

"The battle is being waged on many fronts!" Eliot's horror was clear to see. "How many fronts? How many places? What in Hell is iGod/i doing about it?"

"God . . . hmmm, that is difficult to answer for, you see, not all angels are allowed to see God. I am just . . . me. Just an angel. My orders come from higher up the chain of command, but it is not my right to question them, or to see our God. I follow orders."

"Yeah, crap orders if you ask me, the state you and Dean have been in . . ."

Castiel held up a hand to silence Eliot. "My orders were to save Dean from Hell, to be by his side and support him, to encourage him to do the right thing and, as far as possible, to prevent him getting injured - or worse . . . But, as I am sure you know well, orders can be changed and it often takes time for those orders to filter down to the troops." Eliot gave a curt nod to indicate that he did indeed understand. Castiel sighed, "I do not always agree with my orders, but it is still not my place to question them."

"I don't believe that. I don't believe you don't question them. And it would be my guess that, at times, you ignore them all together."

Castiel looked away again, not answering the question at all, "I had called for reinforcements . . ." Emotion seemed to sweep through the angel before he continued, "I have done what I could. My orders were . . . changed. Maybe this," he signalled the wounds across his torso before waving a hand in the direction of the room where Dean was sleeping, "Was necessary for some higher purpose."

"You honestly believe that?" Eliot asked, irritation clear in his voice.

"I have no answer to why no one came when I called. No one came when we had agreed. Had I had no reply, no acknowledgement, it would be different, but the plans were laid, set . . ." Castiel seemed at a loss to explain the angels' non-appearance. "Dean and I did what we could, it nearly cost us our lives. I had no choice afterwards. Perhaps your visit was fortuitous. Without the call from Bobby, we would have remained in hiding and I would have continued to be unable to heal Dean. My ienergy/i is not what it was. I was never a healer. It does not come naturally. There I had to concentrate my energies on keeping us concealed, making sure we were safe and in trying to contact the other angels and . . ." He seemed reluctant to finish his thoughts, but Eliot pressed until he grudgingly said, "I was trying to locate Samuel. He had promised Dean he would join us. He did not."

"What did you find out about Sam?" Eliot asked.

"Nothing. I cannot find him. I do not believe he is dead, yet I can find no sign of him anywhere. With you here, I have been considering whether you will serve to distract Dean from his brother's absence."

Eliot snorted in disbelief, "You're a fool if you think that. Nothing you can ever do short of wiping his mind clean will ever stop Dean worrying about his brother, even when Sammy's right slap bang in front of him. It's ingrained, hardwired into him, so don't start thinking you can change that!" Eliot found himself feeling less antagonistic towards the angel before him, although not entirely willing to let his earlier resentment go.

Castiel looked tired and defeated at Eliot's words. "I should . . ." he trailed off as if unsure what it was he should be doing. He took a deep breath and drew himself up, starting again, "I should go for a walk. Get some fresh air and try once again to contact the other angels and find Samuel."

Eliot nodded, but added a word of caution, "Don't overdo it, you're still recovering yourself."

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of something crashing to the floor in the downstairs bedroom. Eliot was up and running immediately with Castiel behind him. He flung the door open to see Dean sitting awkwardly on the side of the bed, trying to reach for the fallen lamp without having to bend down too far. His eyes lifted to meet Eliot's and relief flooded through his expression instantly. "El-"

He was cut off as the older man immediately began to berate him for trying to get out of bed. Eliot immediately shot to his side and retrieved the lamp first in order to stop Dean bending forward and hurting himself more. "What are you doing?" he snapped.

Dean shook his head and sighed in exasperation, before saying simply, "I was getting up to go to the bathroom. I caught the lamp and knocked it off, so I tried to pick it up. Why? What did it look like I was doing? Yoga?" He ignored Eliot's scowl as he tried to cautiously push himself up to standing, noticing Castiel for the first time, "Hey, Cas. How are you doing?"

"I am well," came the simple reply, to which Dean just raised his eyebrows. Castiel elaborated further on seeing the impression, "I am tired, but my wounds are now healing. Most of your stitching held, but more have been added." It was clear as Castiel glanced at Eliot that he wasn't sure who to attribute the new stitching to.

"You! You tried to heal me!" Dean reproached, "You tried to heal me, iafter/i we'd agreed it wasn't going to happen." With a growl, he waved away the argument adding, "I haven't got the energy for this now. Don't think I'm going to forget about it though!" He turned his attention back to Eliot, "Sorry El, I didn't realize anyone was within calling distance. Figured the house was so quiet, ya'all had to be outside doing stuff." Eliot nodded his acceptance of the explanation, after all it wasn't like the house hadn't been quiet and it had been a while since he'd been in to check on Dean. Dean spoke again quieter this time, "El, can you just help me up? Like I said, I need-"

Eliot moved immediately to his side, supporting his weight as he started to stand and helping him across the room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Dean leaned heavily on his arm for support, his breathing labored as they progressed slowly. Dean finally grunted, "Think I need some more painkillers."

Eliot agreed, adding, "Call me when you're done and I'll check the wound out at the same time."

* * *

It wasn't long before Eliot was helping Dean make his way to the swing seat on the porch, both of them relieved that, despite the discomfort, the wound was healing well. With Dean settled as comfortably as possible, Eliot went back into the kitchen to make him something to eat and fetch the pain meds to help ease his pain.

They spent the rest of the afternoon drifting gently back and forth on the swing seat, Dean resting against Eliot's chest, with one of Eliot's feet resting on the railing to give them the regular push they needed to keep the movement going.

"'M sorry 's been so long," Dean murmured after a while. "There's been a lot happening and . . ."

"Yeah, wish you'd told me. Let me be there for you. I mean Hell, Dean, you've been to Hell literally. You think . . ." The words were half choked off as Eliot cleared his throat and tried again, "You think it doesn't matter to me."

Dean captured Eliot's left hand in his own, entwining their fingers, before replying, "'Course not. I didn't want it to hurt you, knowing the end was coming. That it was my fault and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it." Dean shivered and Eliot pulled the blanket he'd dropped over the back of the seat over Dean before placing a kiss to his temple. "It was bad enough that I put Bobby and Sam through it, without doing that to you too."

"Dean, it wouldn't've mattered. I'd have been there for you, whether I agreed with the choices you made or not. I'd have done my best to understand and at least I would've been with you for . . . whatever happened." Eliot sighed, "I've missed you."

"Sometimes I wish we could just hang out here like this all the time," Dean admitted softly.

"Preferably without you being hurt first," Eliot amended. "Castiel seems to be recovering which is good." Dean gave a small nod of agreement, lying still with his eyes closed. "So what happens next?"

"Who knows? I sure as hell don't," Dean replied. "Castiel . . . I think he's kind of . . . adrift right now. Orders from above that don't make any damned sense, change all the time or contradict stuff he's been told before. Sometimes I don't know how he doesn't just lose it. It's hard to be let down, to expect people to be with you and then to find they're not there when you need them. I know you know what I mean, but I think this might be the first time in his experience that he hasn't had other angels at his back and that cuts in a way that doesn't heal like the pain from the fight with demons."

"Never stops fucking hurting, even when you're expecting it," Eliot agreed.

"So what happened? Who fucked you over and left you out to dry?" Dean prompted.

Eliot gave a short snort of cynical laughter, "That obvious?"

Dean lifted their entwined hands and brought them to rest on his stomach carefully, while he pondered how to answer. Eventually he said, "You talked about Hardison and Parker . . . but you talked about them like, I dunno, I guess it was a bit like I talk about Sammy, like you're their older brother and you gotta look out for them, but for all their issues, you didn't sound like your pissiness meant anything, which means there was someone else. Someone who you're running from. I'm guessing it's not a lover or you wouldn't be here now, so someone else got under your skin somehow."

"Insightful little bastard sometimes, aren't ya?" Eliot growled affectionately. "Sophie . . . or Sophie and Nate I guess. I was working on a team . . . and it – it was different. It wasn't just for the money or the thrill, or whatever. I was – we were helping people ya know? People who were being cheated and scammed and . . . it felt good. Better than just stealing for the money, just hitting out to stay alive or to come out on top. I got to hit the bad guys, make them hurt, get justice for the people who couldn't get it for themselves. Made me feel better 'bout what I do. Less like I'm just a greedy bastard who doesn't care." Eliot was reassured by the squeezed pressure of Dean's hand round his. "Nate was . . . the boss, for want of a better word. For the most part he chose the people we worked for, masterminded what we did. He was an honest man overall, there's not many of them around. Lost his son and threw away his life in the aftermath. He knows what it's like to be hurt by the big guns. He cares . . . guess it got under my skin, all that caring about shit. Then there was Sophie . . . Sophie was like a chameleon. She was whoever you needed her to be, smooth operator and – and we all fell for it. She had us all onside, all behind her helping bring the big guy down when – when we found out, it wasn't about revenge and justice at all . . . it was about stealing something she wanted."

"Bitch!" Dean muttered softly.

"We were busted, I – I ended up in hospital after it was all over . . . I got the others out first, some of them, Nate and Hardison anyway. We had to go our separate ways and I had to get out of there so they couldn't find me. I had to drive for two days before I could risk going to a hospital, ribs busted up. The pressure of not really taking care of them properly meant I'd almost punctured a lung . . . blah blah, you know the drill," he sighed. "Fucked up! I sat in that hospital while they fixed me up. Turned out I'd busted up my wrist as well, only just got the splint off before I came up here." The two men sat in silence for a while, before Eliot said, "That'll teach me to think I can ever be anything good."

"You can, you are," Dean said softly. "She fucked it up, not you. Something else will come along, something that you make right. Failing that you could always come with me and Cas. Another pair of hands wouldn't go amiss . . . ones we could rely on."

"Like you'd want me hanging around all the time," Eliot huffed.

"Wish we could . . ."

"What about your Sammy? You gonna tell him about me? What we've really got? 'cause that's what we're talking about here, Dean," Eliot pressed.

Dean sighed, then answered defensively, "I dunno, it's . . . it's not that easy, El, not with Sammy. Anyway, he's not here right now. You could come with us. Friend of Bobby's is what you are so we could do it. He doesn't need to know the rest."

"I'm not getting at you, Dean. I know it's not that easy but you honestly think me traveling with you is a good idea? No hands, dude, no touching, let alone anything more! Seriously, what do we get out of being together if we're not 'being together'? Apart from torture! Truth told, I would love to be with you all the time, but it ain't gonna work. I couldn't do your job, I'd be a liability and you don't have time for liabilities on a hunt. I'm also not gonna be the one to tear you and your brother apart. We – we just need to get our priorities straight so we can meet more often."

Dean started to pull away, but Eliot held him close and didn't allow him to go. "Don't, Dean! We're good like this, we know we can make this work and it's okay. We can keep making this work until it's our time."

"Wish it could be different," Dean murmured, receiving a murmur of agreement from Eliot. "Might not be that long . . . Sam's missing. He was supposed to be with us, but he didn't come. He's been in touch with Bobby but won't say where he is or what he's doing. He doesn't listen to me anymore. He's messing with dangerous stuff and I don't like it. It's not right."

"He's a big boy, Dean. I know it sucks, but you can't be responsible for his every move, no matter what your old man said. Sam has to make his own decisions and, hell, right now I'd have no time for him, leaving you hanging like that, letting you get hurt like this . . . It's too much for me to forgive him easily," Eliot admitted.

"'M not his responsibility. Anyway, I'm okay now. Between Castiel's healing, your cooking and the rest, I'm doing fine." Dean fell silent, drowsy in the warmth and security, the slow motion back and forth. Eliot felt his own eyes growing heavy as well and the two of them spent the next few hours just dozing in the warm sunlight.

* * *

Over the next few days, Dean and Castiel continued to improve. Their strength returned and both of them grew increasingly more mobile, and with it ever more restless. The continuing absence of Sam played heavily on them both. The dying sense of trust between Dean and his younger brother weighed down his mood as he dealt with the feelings of having failed both his brother and father. Castiel was equally perturbed by Sam's continued absence and what it could mean, particularly since he knew Bobby had made it clear to the younger Winchester how severe Dean's injuries were.

Eliot relaxed as he watched the interaction between Dean and Castiel and was reassured that there was mutual respect there, maybe more than that even, but whatever it was, it was not sexual - it was not what he and Dean shared. It was also a relief that the angel seemed relatively unperturbed by their relationship. Eliot had heard Castiel ask Dean a question or two as if to clarify the nature of it, and although he'd seemed at first as if he might say something about it being wrong, he'd instead clamped his mouth quite determinedly closed and gone for a walk. Dean had been a little anxious while he was gone, worrying about what his reaction might be, but when the angel returned he'd said nothing negative and, instead, pointed out that he noticed Eliot had 'great affection' for Dean and that he did not seem to make the demands on him Sam did. He accepted Dean for who he was, and Castiel explained that he thought perhaps it was a good thing.

When Eliot tried to find out more about Castiel, Dean had been forthcoming in some areas and completely silent on others. He poked fun at Castiel, much to Eliot's surprise, the angel taking it in his stride. There was a difference in his bearing too, that Eliot had seen before, and he realized that it was Castiel's 'angelness' that made him stand out - the jokes he didn't understand, the human rituals he had not experienced before that Dean had been happy to teach him. Eliot found himself relaxing around the angel, accepting his presence and his concern just as he did with Bobby.

* * *

Eliot headed into town for fresh supplies a few days later, his cooking exhausting Bobby's kitchen cupboards. He was surprised on his return to see Dean already sitting outside with the blanket thrown haphazardly over his knees. As he climbed from the car, he could see Dean's rigid posture, his anxious lip bite and he could see Castiel and Bobby hovering nearby.

Bobby met him on the porch steps and took the two bags of groceries, giving Eliot a sad smile as he said, "I'll pack this away." He tilted his head in Dean's direction indicating that Eliot should go see him.

Eliot sighed and moved across to where Dean was sitting. He hesitated for a moment unsure what to do before deciding to sit next to him. With the barest hint of a wince, Dean changed position. Eliot saw the cell phone in his hands that he was turning over and over incessantly and knew what had happened while he was out.

He wanted to tell Dean to ignore it, leave it, treat his younger brother the same way he was being treated, but he didn't. Instead he shifted closer, letting his leg rest alongside Dean's and asked quietly, "Is he coming here?"

Dean shook his head, "No.I have to go to him. I leave tomorrow. I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry, but – Dean, is it a good idea right now? You're not exactly running on all cylinders," Eliot tried to keep his tone light, knowing Dean didn't need to be made to feel guilty about leaving. They'd always understood, family came first, no matter how much they wanted things to be different.

"Bobby and Castiel are going to come with me. I don't know how long we'll be gone but . . . I have to do this."

Eliot nodded his understanding. "Stay here a minute," he said before jumping to his feet and heading back to the car. He opened the door and pulled out another bag from the passenger side. He hurried back to Dean. "I got us this," he said as he dropped the bag onto Dean's lap. Dean looked up at him in surprise. "Well, we can't borrow Bobby's forever. Now we've got our own."

Dean opened the bag and pulled out a box with a picture of a camera on the side. "I'll need to charge it up. We can take some photos before you leave. I need to talk to Bobby, see if he'd mind if I stayed on here for a few days."

As he started to stand back up, Dean tugged on his arm, pulling him closer. "Thanks, dude. For understanding."

* * *

The hours flew by, Eliot made sure he planned a good energy-filled meal and was pleased when Dean joined him in the kitchen, picking up a knife and peeling vegetables alongside where Eliot was working. There was no need for words, nothing left to be said that they didn't already know and understand.

When the camera was charged, Eliot set it up with a memory card and got Dean to pose for a few photos out in the yard before calling Bobby and Castiel over. It wasn't long before Dean took over and had Eliot posing in a similar fashion. When they'd done, they climbed into Eliot's car and set off for the store Eliot had seen in town where they could print out the best of the pictures.

The two of them came back thirty minutes later, laughing at the results of some of their photographic attempts, but pleased with the ones they'd chosen to be printed out. Before leaving the car, Dean opened his wallet and took out the old photo of Eliot, showing him with a wry grin, before flicking through the collection they'd just got. "You know, I kinda really like this one of you and Cas, although heaven only knows how I managed to change the setting to black and white!" He slid both pictures into his wallet, a challenge in his eyes as if waiting for Eliot to disapprove.

"At least now I know you've got no excuse for forgetting me!" Eliot smiled.

* * *

The morning came bright and clear and Dean was packing the last of his things. Eliot came into the room behind him, hands slipping round his waist and pulling him back for a kiss with a laugh. "Put this one in your wallet too," he murmured, slipping another photo of himself into Dean's back pocket. "I don't want you having to look at Castiel every time you wanna see me, you might decide he's more than just your own personal angel!"

"Jealous much, Spencer!" Dean grinned, "Thought I'd put that thought out of your head already." Eliot shrugged trying to appear nonchalant, but Dean slid the photo back out of his pocket and looked at it carefully. "Yeah, I like this one."

"I think Cas and Bobby are ready and waiting on you." Eliot watched as Dean pulled the zipper on the bag and leant forward to pick it up. Eliot snatched the bag away with the words, "Let me, I can carry it out for you, save you straining anything!"

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, he started to turn for the door only to have Dean stop him and lean in for a kiss, before stepping back with a grin, "Come on then, old man. You're keeping everyone waiting!" As he reached the door, he said quietly, "Let's not leave it so long this time."

Eliot agreed and the two of them quickly joined the other men outside. He put Dean's bag in the car, waited as Dean climbed in, then closed the door for him. "Stay safe, dude."

Eliot moved back to the porch steps to watch as the two cars drove away, the first, the Impala with Dean and Castiel in followed by Bobby in a truck. They were long out of sight before he turned back into the house, wondering how long it would be.

* * *

Author's Notes : Thanks for reading. There is a semi-sequel/prequel in the pipeline.


End file.
